


Blood Break

by solange_annick



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, F/M, I came out to have a good time and I'm honestly being so attacked rn, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Multi, Murder, OC, Revenge, like gotham is fucked up but oh well, not outside of canon themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solange_annick/pseuds/solange_annick
Summary: Gotham is no stranger to secrets.  Both the underworld and everyday citizens carry unknown information on their peers, loved ones, and collages.Twelve-year-old Jacob Maroni is dead.  His mother, Margot Maroni, plans her revenge on Gotham for taking her treasured boy.  Unwavering in her goals and losing her grip on reality, Gotham's status quo unravels.
Relationships: wouldnt u like to know
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All trigger warnings for each chapter will be in the comments!!!

_ Dear Professor Strange: I first wish to congratulate you on your promotion to the head of psychiatry at Arkham Asylum. The position is more than appropriate for a man of your talents. Studying underneath you at Gotham University was such an enlightening experience. _

_ I understand that you are busy, but I believe the attached lab reports will greatly interest you. Thomas Wayne's donations have allowed me to acquire more blood samples, mostly from the inmates at Blackgate, for my work in immunological chemistry. Using a synthetic antibody, I believe I have isolated the protein responsible for cell death and repair. If my hypothesis is correct, the isolation and mutation of this protein could cause cellular stasis. No cell death and only repairs when necessary. _

_ This is all theoretical, of course. _

_ I would appreciate any feedback before I submit my report to Gotham University for further testing. _

_ Sincerely, Margot Maroni  _


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah, Mrs. Maroni,” Alfred offered a young woman his arm. “Here for Jacob, I suppose?”

Margot politely held the butler’s arm as she walked up the steps of Wayne Manor. “Right as usual, Mr. Pennyworth,” she said. “Is there any chance Martha is here? I’m sure the boys don’t want their fun to end yet.”

“As a matter of fact-” Two boys raced past, nearly knocking the pair over. Alfred steadied Margot - who momentarily wobbled in her heels. “Ay! Steady on, boys! Master Bruce, you know better than to run in the house! And you, Master Jacob, nearly knocked your poor mum on the ground!” 

Giggling apologies echoed down the hall. 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on them Alfred,” Margot said. “I’m sure you were the same as a boy.”

The butler shook his head as he helped Margot with her coat. “Possibly. But my dear dad would have given me a right kicking up the backside.”

Margot laughed at Alfred’s words. She had never left Gotham, but imagined that Alfred was more English-blooded than the Queen. There was no way Alfred was simply a sample of the English population. Regardless, he was a fine man. Margot never felt uneasy leaving her twelve-year-old son at the Waynes as long as Mr. Pennyworth was present. 

“Anyway,” Alfred continued. “Mrs. Wayne is having tea in the kitchen. She’s been waiting for you, actually.”

Margot followed him into a spacious, yet modest, kitchen at the end of the manor. Martha Wayne sat at the table, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. “Oh, Margot! Please sit down! I’m reading the most interesting article.”

The young woman sat across from Martha. Despite their sons being playmates, the age difference between the two was clear. Martha, who recently entered her forties, wore a face with smile-lines framed by graying hair. Margot still maintained a youthful glow and monochromatic black curls. Margot viewed Martha as both a dear friend and a motherly figure. Even though she had a boy who was nearing his teenage years, Margot needed Martha's nurturing presence to even remain sane.

“What is it about?” 

“This Professor Strange,” Martha said. “I know he was your mentor at Gotham University and that he went to school with Thomas, but he has so many interesting ideas. The Gotham Gazette interviewed him after Thomas chose him as the head of the new Arkham project.” 

Margot thanked Alfred for the cup of tea he set before her. “Yes, he has many… unusual ideas. His background in psychiatry is quite secure, I assure you. I’m most familiar with his theoretical work. I wrote several papers about human biochemistry while studying under him.”

“Oh, really?” Martha sipped her tea.

“Yes,” Margot continued. “I actually sent him a lab report earlier today. I hope he looks at it. It’s rather relevant to his work right now.”

“I would ask you what it's about, but we both know it would all go over my head,” Martha said. “I do hope that Thomas’ contributions have been helpful. He’s so excited to be backing you.” 

“I’m so incredibly grateful,” Margot held her cup, letting it warm her hands. “Most companies would push me to apply my work to human subjects, so they can make a profit. It's refreshing to know that my work remains ethical.”

She took a sip and heard two boys running up behind her. 

“Mom!” Jacob yelled, unaware of his volume, and gave his mother a hug. 

“Jacob,” Margot said, slightly strangled as the boy climbed into her lap. “Let me set down my tea.”

Bruce was far more restrained than the redhead- to a point. He bounced on his toes around his own mother. Instead of climbing on her, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair. “What have you two been up to?” Martha asked, smiling.

“We went outside and played with swords, then we made a fort in the attic, then we read a bunch of books, then we had a snack, then-” Jacob rambled on and on. Martha and Margot exchanged grins. Jacob was usually more intense than Bruce, because of his ADHD. Margot knew that Jacob had consumed massive amounts of sugar during the day too. The minute Jacob sits in the car, he was going to crash. 

Bruce yawned. 

“Well, Jacob,” Margot gently pushed him off her lap. “I think it's time to go.”

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Margot stood. “I’m sure the Waynes have things they need to do.” 

Jacob frowned, but accepted his mother’s words. He stuck a hand out to Bruce, who then shook it. The adults in their life had inspired the pair’s businessman-like approach. Margot found it cute. Two boys ending a playdate like they just completed a contract.

Bruce then held out his hand to Margot. “Thank you for letting Jacob come over.”

Margot shook it and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for having us.” 

Bruce’s ears turned bright red.

Martha and Margot hugged each other. “Stay safe, Margot,” Martha whispered. “Don’t hesitate to call. We’ll take in Jacob anytime.”

Margot nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

The boys ran ahead to the door with Alfred on their tail. 

“What are your plans for this evening, Martha?” Margot asked, strolling through the hallways. 

“Well,” she said. “Thomas and I are planning on taking Bruce to a movie. Mark of Zorro. He’s never seen it on the big screen.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it!” 

The two women continued talking about nothing in particular. When they arrived at the front door, Alfred had successfully ensured that Jacob had his shoes and coat on. Bruce and Jacob were whispering about what they planned to do the next time they saw each other. 

Alfred helped Margot into her coat. “Have a wonderful evening, ma’am.” 

“Thank you, Alfred,” Margot held out her arm. “Let’s go Jacob.” 

Bruce followed the pair so he could wave the car away. Martha’s smile disappeared and became a worried frown. 

“Ma’am?” 

Martha looked up to Alfred. “I worry about them,” she said. “I feel like I’m sending Margot into the lions’ den. And that poor boy.” 

Silence hung in the air as Alfred searched for the right reply. Martha noted his silence. “Go tell Thomas it’s almost time to go, will you? Thank you, Alfred.”

* * *

Margot ran her fingers through her son’s bright hair.  _ Her boy _ . 

Sometimes, she felt like pinching herself. It all felt like a dream that could fade away at any moment. When she was younger, Margot never imagined that she would have a child. She didn’t even care to get married, but now she was the wife of one of Gotham’s crime lords. 

While Margot was thankful for Jacob, she despised her husband. Salvatore provided food, shelter, expensive clothing, jewels, and a proper education for their son. The trade was Margot’s personal sacrifice of her pride and dignity. Salvatore took her to parties just to show her off. “Look at my beautiful wife!” he would say. “Isn’t she a doll?”

Fish Mooney, an under-lord on the other side of the aisle, would occasionally share sharp side-eyes with Margot. Almost to say,  _ “How have you not killed him yet?” _ Margot didn’t blame her. Mooney was an independent woman, who could function easily without Carmine Falcone’s help. Margot supposed she enjoyed the extra security and  _ oomph _ to her name under Falcone. 

Margot did not have that luxury- she had Jacob to care about. Sal didn’t truly see Jacob as his son, but only leverage against Margot when he did not have his way. Poor Jacob, only twelve, had seen his mother throw herself between him and Salvatore more than once. No child should have to witness that. 

Salvatore was oblivious to how he appeared in the underworld. While he had fame, money, power, and men- nobody respected him. They tolerated him. Don Falcone understood that manners could carry strength and respect, while Salvatore favored bluntness. Bluntness that will one day get him killed. 

Or get her and Jacob killed. 

Margot’s throat tightened as the car pulled up to the Maroni estate. “Jacob,” she jostled him. “We’re home.” 

Jacob sat up and rubbed his eyes. Dark circles laid beneath them among freckles, evidence of a tiresome day of play. A couple years ago, Margot would have carried Jacob into the house herself so he could sleep. Now Jacob’s weight was more than Margot could carry on heels. She didn’t trust any of the men to delicately carry the twelve-year-old up the stairs. Many of the Maroni men had sons themselves, but for the same reason Sal did: as insurance. As a guarantee the Maroni name would continue and each boy would grow into his own divine right. 

They didn’t have the same respect for the women. The most respect a woman received in the Maroni family was if they were a grandmother and could cook well. If there was something to boast and gloat about. A part of Margot feared what Jacob may become: his father’s son. 

Margot guided the sleepyhead up the stairs- who continued to rub his eyes and yawn. A small smile remained on her face for herself, Jacob, and the men who lurked in the shadows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my tumblr solange-annick for more updates and content!


	3. Chapter 3

**_"WAYNES DEAD"_ **

The headline dominated every newspaper. The tragedy screamed at Margot in bold black and white. It was unbelievable. They were always so safe when Bruce was around.

Margot tucked the newspaper under her leg when she heard Jacob stirring down the hall. It was late morning, but he would expect a large breakfast. Growing boys.

 _Poor Bruce_.

She couldn't comprehend how the child must feel. Salvatore separated Margot from her family when she was only 15. There was no time to mourn her loss or worry about her loved ones. But Bruce, poor Bruce... He was sitting in an empty mansion parent-less and in shock. Alfred will care for the boy, but every creak and groan in the old house must terrify him now. The permeating fear of his parents' murderer would come to finish the job.

Margot was torn. How was she to tell Jacob? What if he wants to go visit his best friend, only to find Bruce grieving? 

“Hi, Mom,” Jacob mumbled. It was clear he threw together some clothes in order to be somewhat presentable. Better than pajamas. His copper hair still stuck up in every direction. 

“Good morning sweetheart,” Margot held out her arms. “Come here.”

Jacob fell into her arms for a hug and yawned into his mother’s neck. “Is there any cereal left?”

“Yes, just be sure to eat some fruit.” Margot kissed his cheek. 

He shuffled away.

“And, Jacob? White milk, not chocolate!” 

“Mom!”

“I mean it!”

Margot chuckled to herself. These small moments meant the world to her. Little reminders of her maternal responsibility.

She stood. “I’m going outside,” Margot said to no one in particular. She knew one of Salvatore’s men was nearby- keeping tabs on her for their boss. 

The Waynes' death rattled Margot's sense of security. She always thought the family to be impenetrable. Their guarantee of safety extended to herself and Jacob. Now, uncertainty prevailed.

Margot knew her usefulness to Salvatore was wearing thin. The countdown to her disposal always ticked in the background, but now she was all too aware of Jacob's. The unspoken understanding was Jacob's singular job was to maintain a relationship with Bruce Wayne. This relationship would become useful as both boys inherited their respectful empires and the Maroni family would forever have an advantage over the Falcones. With Martha and Thomas Wayne dead, all hung in the balance. Bruce's interest in a peer friendship may wane, resulting in a division between the two. If the friendship fell apart, then Salvatore may consider finding a new heir. Someone with more experience and seniority. Jacob was a sensitive boy- never meant to be a career criminal. He cared for animals and others- something Salvatore saw as an unbeatable weakness.

When Salvatore "took in" Margot, there was a clear understanding of her roles: provide heirs, research biochemical weapons, and be a trophy wife. For several years she has been failing at her tasks. No matter how much Salvatore forced himself upon her, Margot did not become pregnant. The Maronis valued tradition, which meant several children. Salvatore was not quiet about how she embarrassed him. Last year, his anger toward Margot tripled after an incident at the docks.

_Margot resisted biting her lip. The nervous tick could compromise her lipstick, a look unfitting someone of her status. She instead dug her manicured nails into her palm. Circular sunglasses obscured her worry- worry was something she could not afford with the car window rolled down._

_Salvatore stood several feet from the car with Jacob, gripping the boy's shoulder. He was giving an impromptu lesson in the "family business" to Jacob at the docks that morning. The fishermen created a union to demand a greater cut of profit. A very unwise decision._

_Several fishermen stood before the pair behind an older fellow who was obviously the ringleader. "Listen, Maroni. We bring in a fourth of your income. Our work is valuable. We simply want to be rightly compensated for our work."_

_Salvatore turned to Jacob. "Now boy, they have a very good point," he said. "Their work is, in fact, valuable."_

_Jacob nodded._

_"However," Sal faced the group. "We can't have everybody getting ideas. Imagine the chaos! Everybody would be askin’ for a greater cut. Eventually, we'd be makin' nothing! There would be no respect!"_

_The ringleader laughed. The other fishermen, shocked, took a step back in anticipation. "You know nobody respects you, Maroni? Yeah, some of us are scared of you, but we ain't respecting you. How can we respect you when you can't even fuck your wife right?"_

_The mood shifted. Jacob looked back and forth between his mother and father, unsure of how to react. He'd overheard that language in the house, but never from someone taunting Salvatore. He didn't understand the exact meaning, but he knew the implication._

_Barely a moment passed and the ringleader fell dead on the ground, bullet hole between his eyes. Salvatore pointed it at the others. "Anybody else?"_

_The terrified men shook their heads with their hands raised. "No, Don Maroni," spoken just above a whisper._

_"You know," Salvatore's tone was dark. "I think I'll cut your profit by half. Next time you'll think twice before opening your damn mouths." He marched to the car. Jacob followed him shaking at seeing a man murdered right before him._

_The door opened and Jacob buried his face in Margot's shoulder to stifle his heavy breathing. Salvatore got in the other side. "Hey, kid!" he pulled Jacob from his mother. "Toughen up, for God's sake! You think you can cry over every dead body?"_

_Jacob furiously shook his head, his ginger locks falling onto his forehead._

_"You embarrass me, Margot," Salvatore gripped the arm she had wrapped around her son. "Parent him right or I'll do it myself."_

Salvatore became more aggressive in his attempts to conceive a child. He became convinced Margot was sneaking birth control or aborting potential children. No matter how much Margot said otherwise, he didn't believe her. Whenever Salvatore wasn't around one of his men watched her. She never got used to their stares, especially after they removed her shower curtain. She knew if she wasn't the boss's wife, his men would be happy to take turns with her. Margot lost her final oasis away from Salvatore.

She needed to do something. Fast. What was to keep Salvatore from disposing of her and Jacob, so he may remarry and start over? The next several weeks were critical. Everything hinged upon Bruce Wayne’s reaction to his newfound orphanhood and Margot’s improvisation. She needed to be a dozen steps ahead of Salvatore, not just two or three. 

Margot’s options were limited and dangerous. Not enough resources to leave Gotham, asking for Falcone’s protection risked Salvatore’s wrath, and reporting to the GCPD was pointless. When Margot was younger and naïve, she ran to the police time and time again- losing hope with each report filled. Nothing ever happened. Despite Salvatore's lower status among Gotham’s mob families, he owned a significant portion of the GCPD. 

“Mom!”

Margot’s chest tightened. She recognized her boy’s intonation- terrifyingly familiar. 

She kicked off her heels into the garden and ran across the lawn barefoot. Rocks lodged themselves between her toes and sliced her feet. She didn’t care. 

The kitchen door nearly flew off its hinges. Margot stood in the doorway, blood pooling around her injured feet. _“Don’t you touch him.”_

Tension, thick and heavy, filled the room. Margot glared at her fool of a husband with palatable venom. Salvatore stared back at her, unperturbed. He held Jacob’s shirt tightly- pushing the child against the counter. 

Shards of ceramic scattered the kitchen tile, formerly fragments of a bowl. There laid the source of Salvatore’s anger: Jacob’s nervous tremor. The quakes struck the poor boy indiscriminately. They broke dishes, dropped valuables, and tormented Jacob each day. Just another way for Salvatore’s patience to be tested. 

“Dad…” Jacob gasped and grabbed his father’s hands- prompting the man to let go. 

Salvatore stepped over the bowl and brushed down his suit. “Margot,” he leaned into her personal space. “Make sure this gets cleaned up. Falcone is paying us a visit. Can’t have our house out of order, hm?” While leaving, he pat Margot’s cheek. As if she was a dog. 

Margot grimaced.

Jacob remained frozen in the same place Salvatore set him. Margot held her boy against her chest. He stopped crying long ago- now just silence. 

* * *

Carmine Falcone eased himself into his car while collapsing his umbrella. Most mobsters would order an underling to open the door and hold the umbrella, but Falcone chose to do so himself. One of the few continuous rituals in his life that offered a glimpse of humanity. 

A humanity he found himself contemplating after meetings with the Maronis. 

Salvatore required his younger wife, Margot, present at all meetings. Silent and unintrusive, she played the part of unattainable beauty to be envied by opposing forces. Margot was an enigma. Nobody knew where she came from or how she came to be Salvatore’s wife. The only glimpses into her nature came from her occasional scientific publications. 

Salvatore’s treatment of his wife was an open secret in Gotham. Fine dark fabrics, jewels, gold, gloves and more were draped upon Margot’s bruised, pale skin. Every look tailored to Salvatore’s temper. 

This particular meeting was different. With the Waynes dead, Gotham’s underlying structure was cracking. A truce was called to prevent total chaos. 

Margot had watched from her corner. Gold embroidery danced upon her dark dress, detracting from and covering any physical marks. She was silent as usual. Margot was not calm, however. She messed with her black hair, bit the inside of her cheek, and her hands shook. Margot all but screamed to Carmine something was amiss within the Maroni household. 

Victor Zassaz cast a glance at his boss from across the car. “Sir?”

“Yes, Victor?”

“You need something, don’t you?”

Carmine chuckled. Victor knew his employer better than Carmine knew himself. “Yes,” he said. “It involves Margot Maroni.”

Victor tilted his head in curiosity. Carmine was aware of the hitman’s fascination with the woman and he wasn’t sure if Victor was drawn to her beauty, mystery or both. Nevertheless, Victor always made sure to kiss Margot’s knuckles in greetings and farewells and would offer a dance with her at galas- events he openly disdained. Carmine often caught him staring across the room at Margot, who was (or at least pretending to be) unaware. 

“I need you to keep an eye on her. She was a crucial link between the Maronis and the Waynes. Don Maroni may not realize it, but his wife holds a treasure-trove of information,” Carmine said. “Information that she might be willing to trade in exchange for asylum for her and her son.”

“So…do I bring her in?”

Carmine thought for a moment. “Use your discretion,” he said. “But she should be ready to make a deal.”

* * *

Margot shook as she walked into the GCPD. She didn't need a specific reason to. She was the wife of one of the crime lords. The police and her had an unsteady relationship. Margot struggled to trust them; they may be on the Maroni payroll and report back to her husband.

"Can I help you?"

She turned to the unfamiliar voice. "You're new."

"Yes. Just this past week. Detective Jim Gordon." He gently shook her hand, taking obvious note of the bruise on her wrist. "And you are?"

"Margot Maroni."

"Ah. I've heard of your husband."

"I'm sure," Margot said. "Who's your partner?"

"Detective Harvey Bullock," Detective Gordon nodded behind him at a pair of desks outside the captain's office.

Margot couldn't help but to smile. She knew Bullock. He was a gruff and worn out figure in the GCPD, but cared underneath the day drinking and shaggy beard. He was the only officer who seemed marginally interested in helping her. Bullock took great care in writing Margot's report and promised to make multiple copies. They both knew nothing was going to happen. No arrests and the report would mysteriously vanish.

"What can I help you with?"

Margot looked about the room and self-protectively crossed her arms. "Could we speak someplace more private, Detective Gordon?"

"Of course," Gordon discreetly ushered Margot to an interrogation room. Bullock followed, shut the door, and then put his hat on the camera. Gordon chose not to question it.

"Good to see you, Margot," Bullock pulled up a chair next to Gordon. "I have this, just in case." He placed a thick file on the table and slid it to James who opened it and flipped through the papers- his eyes widening at each page.

"Are you here about your husband?" Jim kept his voice low, just in case the camera was recording.

Margot swallowed. "Yes."

"It says here you've reported domestic violence six times in the last four years," Jim turned to Bullock. "Why hasn't anything been done?"

Margot answered for him. "My husband owns part of the GCPD. If he can get away with murder, then he can get away with beating his wife."

"But what's different this time?" Bullock asked.

"I'm worried for my son Jacob. Ever since the Waynes died, he's become increasingly violent toward Jacob. I... I don't know what to do, Harvey. I'm afraid that he may actually kill him. Jacob is so fragile. It wouldn't take much." Margot didn't feel the tears falling down her face.

Harvey reached into his jacket and pulled out his flask to hand to Margot. It went against protocol, but she needed it. Tossing her head back revealed another bruise around her neck, previously covered by a gold choker. 

“So,” Jim spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “How can we help?”

Margot handed the flask back to Harvey. “I have something you want, but I need assurance that my son has your protection.”

“Mrs. Maroni, you know-” Harvey was cut short by Jim. 

“Of course,” Gordon said. “I promise I’ll do what I can.”

Margot stared at the detective, surprised by his certainty. She thought for a moment. “If you can assure Jacob’s safety, then I’m willing to testify in the Wayne case.”

 _“What?”_ Harvey held his hand in front of Jim, stopping the younger man from speaking. “It’s closed. We, no, _I_ just shot the guy responsible for the Wayne murders. We ain’t reopening that.”

She blinked and tilted her head- drop earrings softly tinkering in her hair. “Your partner disagrees,” Margot spoke softly. “I can see it in his eyes.”

Jim clenched his jaw and ignored Harvey’s glare. “What can you testify to?”

“Help me and I’ll tell you.”

* * *

“She just left the GCPD.”

“Who did she meet?”

“Our new boy, Jim. And Bullock.”

“What did they talk about?”

“The usual. Salvatore,” Victor slurped on his slushie, which traveled loudly over the phone. “He’s going after the kid now.”

“Jacob?”

“She offered information regarding the Wayne murders in exchange for his safety.”

Carmine chuckled. “I truly doubt she knows anything. It’s a bluff.”

“Is it? I mean, we don’t know who killed the Waynes. She was close to them and knows things that we don’t about Maroni. Plus, who knows where she came from?”

A pause for a beat. “Hm,” Carmine pondered Victor’s words. “Keep your distance. It's not time yet.”

* * *

“Back already?”

Fish Mooney was perched at her bar, wine glass in hand. The sun was beginning to set, ushering in crowds to nightclubs. Mooney’s was no exception. A band played onstage to a large crowd. Attendees sparkled and glittered, causing stars to dance across Fish’s figure. 

“It'd be a crime to not see your beautiful self as often as I could,” Harvey flirted. “I brought a friend but, unfortunately, he’s not here for fun.”

Fish rolled her eyes and smirked, “Gordon.”

Jim stood awkwardly behind Harvey, stiff against the flowing crowd. He nodded curtly. “Fish.”

“Are you here about that Balloon Man? Because he’s _certainly_ not part of my crowd.”

“If anything,” Jim said. “He’d give you a free tour of the stratosphere.”

The woman set her glass down upon the bar and Butch Gilzean stepped from the shadows. Her face twisted- ready to verbally assault the police officer for his gall. 

“Hey, hey, hey, now,” Harvey stood between them, hands in the air. “We’re not here for blood. We’re here about Margot Maroni.” 

Fish froze. “Margot Maroni?” Her head jerked to Harvey. “What about her?”

“Do you think we could go to the back and talk?” he asked. “Someplace a little more quiet?”

Fish pursed her lips. “ _But he_ ,” she pointed to Jim. “Needs to keep his _damn mouth_ shut.”

The pair began to follow Fish and Butch to the back of the club. “No guarantees,” Jim muttered under his breath.

The clublife disappeared further into the building until dissolving into complete silence. Soundproofing for mob business was the likely culprit. 

“So,” Fish lounged behind her desk. “What do you want to know?”

“Margot came to the GCPD today,” Harvey said. “Claimed that Salvatore Maroni is going to kill her son. Willing to exchange information about the Wayne murders for her son’s safety.”

“And?”

“Is it true? Could Salvatore kill his own son? And does she actually have information on the Wayne murders?” Jim asked. 

Fish tilted her head, visually reminding Jim of his task of silence. She cast a glance at Butch. “I remember when Margot Maroni first came on the scene. She had already been with Salvatore for about three years and had Jacob. My God, she was terrified. More terrified than half the people out on the street. She was young. Shook like a bird in a hurricane. And then, suddenly, one day,” Fish snapped her fingers. “It was like she had killed off a part of her. Margot Maroni became calm, cool, collected. There were theories. Many believed Salvatore began drugging her. But she’s sharp. It’s not an exaggeration that she’s a brilliant biochemist. Her research at Wayne Industries was once subpoenaed by the government.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Jim asked. 

“Because,” Fish glared. “Margot Maroni is not some dumb housewife. She’s smart and dangerous and has only one reason to live. Her son. If she believes her son is in danger, then he is in danger. But- what strikes me- is the fact she came to you. She knows you can’t do anything. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Jim pressed. 

“She knew you’d come to me,” Fish mused. “She’s going to try to make a deal with Falcone.”

A stunned silence passed between Harvey and Jim, both their eyes wide. “Falcone?” Harvey asked incredulously.

“He’s the only one in this town with the power to truly protect Jacob.”

“And the Waynes?” Jim was gruff.

Fish thought. “Possibly,” she said. “She was good friends with Martha Wayne and worked at Wayne Industries. But,” Fish leaned forward. “That case is _closed_.” 

"Thank you!" Harvey said. "Jim, you gotta leave it."

Jim frowned and stepped back, pretending to give up. Harvey knew better, but didn't say anything. 

* * *

Margot started blankly into the backyard and aimlessly scrubbed at dishes. They had a maid who was more than willing to complete the chore but Margot appreciated the normalcy and repetitiveness of the task. 

She couldn't shake the awful put in her stomach. Not quite the feeling that someone was watching her, but combined with the sensation of believing there's one more step at the end of the stairs. A lurch in safety. 

She looked down. Blood covered the dishes.  _ Shit _ . The steel wool had gnawed its way through her skin and exposed the flesh on her fingers, knuckles and palms.  _ How did she not feel that? _

Her manicure was ruined. 

Tears fell into the sink. Margot struggled to stifle her sobs.  _ No. No _ . It wasn't her nails, it wasn't that. Her despair had finally boiled over from the pit of her stomach to her throat. 

The water kept running, covering for Margot's breakdown. 

She slid down to the floor and curled up into a ball. Margot's blood smeared on the tile and she instinctively tucked her hands into her stomach to protect the kitchen. 

She needed to do something. Something. Anything. What could she do? Falcone should have been in contact by now. Or that stupidly helpful detective could have gotten a warrant against Salvatore. Surely Jacob's bruises crossed the line, even for the police on her husband's payroll. 

Falcone was a father himself. He'd already expressed disgust at Salvatore's behavior toward Margot. Should the current circumstances outrage him? Why the hell hasn't Victor Zassaz staged a kidnapping? Margot half-expected a bullet to shatter the window- sending her to a hospital under Falcone’s control.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Margot fearfully looked up through her tears. 

It was only Gave. 

Margot breathed a sigh of relief. 

"I wouldn't relax just yet, Mrs. Maroni," he said. "Sal should be here in an hour from up north."

"Thank you," she said weakly. 

"Margot," his voice was firmer. "He knows."

Her eyes went wide and she froze. Margot could’ve sworn every cell in her body came to a standstill. The world felt fuzzy. Muted. Softer, but constricting. 

Just as quick as the feeling came, it was replaced with sharp clarity. 

“Gabe,” her voice was steady. Distant. “Could you do me a favor and pick up something from Bamonte’s? Something for dinner.”

“Alright,” he shrugged and lumbered away, leaving Margot in her mess of blood and tears. 

As soon as she heard the door shut, Margot leapt to her feet. Panicked thoughts, plans and anxieties races through her head. She knew. Margot knew what she needed to do. 

Margot washed off her hands and quietly, but hastily, walked down to Jacob’s room. She pushed the heavy door open and softy shut it behind her. 

Jacob looked up over a book. “Mom,” he paled. “Your hands…”

“Don’t worry about that,” Margot spoke in a low whisper. She took a knee to look her boy in the eyes. “Jacob, I need you to get that bag I packed you. The one in your closet. Take it, go down to the basement and in the cellar. There you will change into the clothes in the bag. Then take the tunnel out to the garden and crawl through the bushes into the woods. Jacob, focus. Once you get in the woods, take some dirt and put it in your hair. It will cover up the red. Look at me. Jacob. Pass through the Van Dahl property to the main road on the other side. Put your hood up and hail a cab. Pay with the cash in the sweatshirt pocket. Go straight to Bruce Wayne’s. When you get there, give Alfred the letter that is sewn into the lining of the bag.”

“Mom…” Tears began to well up in the boy’s eyes. 

Margot drew a shaky breath. “I know, sweetheart. But I need you to do this and I need you to do it now. I love you so, so much. More than you could ever imagine. You’ll understand one day. But Jacob, there is no time. Not anymore. Don’t stop for anything. Don’t you dare come back.”

Margot pulled Jacob into a tight hug. “I love you,” she kissed his forehead and stood. “Go.”

She couldn’t bear to spare a last glance at her son. Her boy. Margot didn’t want the last image of Jacob in her mind to be one of grief. 

Margot ran back into the kitchen and began turning the knobs on the gas stove. Salvatore bought the stove five years ago. He wanted the kitchen to look “rustic” and “homey”. Margot hated it. She knew the dangers of a gas stove. For several weeks, she would wake up in the middle of the night to check the knobs. 

As she shoved aside the spices in the cabinet, Margot heard Jacob tumbling down into the basement. So much for quiet. At least he was following her directions. 

_ “Gotcha,” _ she held the kitchen timer aloft. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cigarette lighter. Margot knew exactly what she was doing. 

A half a dozen minutes passed and the front door opened. Salvatore and his underlings trampled into the foyer, laughing and bragging. 

_ “Did you see his face?” _

_ “God, I love it when they do that.” _

_ “It was a good deal.” _

_ “No, it was great!” _

_ “No, amazing!” _

A surreal sense of calm, finality, washed over Margot as she cranked the old timer. She smiled.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Salvatore rounded the corner. His jolly grin fell when he saw Margot. He held up his hands and looked around. “What? No dinner?”

Margot grinned. Her teeth showed, exposing lipstick that had rubbed off on the pearly whites. Mascara lines dripping down her face were shrouded by the out-of-character strands of hair escaping from a messy bun. Margot slowly walked around the counter, her heels clicking on the tile. The kitchen island no longer obscured her bloody hands and dress. 

The underlings took a step back.

_ Tick, tick, tick. _

Salvatore stayed put. Margot gripped his lapels, staining the brown fabric with red. 

She was still smiling.

“Babes,” Salvatore chuckled. “You off your meds?”

“Fuck you.”

_ Ding! _

  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: www.solange-annick.tumblr.com


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